Getting to Know You
by Evening Rain
Summary: Irritated that Booth seems to know everything about her, Bones decides its time to strike back. Inspired by events in Intern in the Incinerator.
1. Chapter 1

**Getting to Know You**

**Disclaimer for all chapters**: these characters do not belong to me.

_Hi there folks. While holding out for season five, I decided to blow of some Bones steam, and wrote this little drabble...not sure how far I'm going to take it (I might just leave it as-is). Inspired by events in _Intern in the Incinerator_, slight spoilers for _Con Man in the Meth Lab. _Enjoy_.

**Chapter 1**

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* * *

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"How could you _possibly_ have known that!" Dr. Temperance Brennan leaned fervently across the diner table, glaring at her partner with a look of irritated disbelief. His insufferable smug grin only served to further infuriate her.

"I tried to warn you, Bones…" Seeley Booth mirrored her posture, leaning across the table so that there faces were only inches apart. "I _know_ you."

"Booth, it is _impossible_ for an individual to know _every_ aspect of another person's life, regardless of how close their relationship is. Your theory of 'knowing' me is completely absurd!"

That maddening smirk just widened further, eyes dancing with mirth as he met her fiery glare. "So you've got another one for me, huh?" She had the urge to reach across the table and shake that intolerable cockiness from his voice. Instead, she leaned back and pursed her lips determinedly.

"How old was I when I lost my first tooth?" She felt a victorious smile pull at her own lips as she raised an eyebrow challengingly, _positive_ that she had him.

"Aw, come on Bones, you can do better than _that_."  
"You're bluffing."

"I would never bluff in the presence of pie," he said solemnly, pausing to take a reverent bite of the cherry bakery before him.

"Then stop stalling," she crossed her arms smugly.

Sighing, the FBI agent set down his fork and leaned back thoughtfully. He met her eyes with that intense look that always made her pulse quicken, and she felt her stomach perform an unsettling yet somehow pleasant-feeling flip-flop. After drawing out the suspense a few moments longer, he gave her an amused look and shook his head sadly.

"Six years old; you forced Max to take off your training wheels, and then crashed into a mailbox three houses down the street. Front tooth, top jaw," he tapped the corresponding tooth in his own mouth to demonstrate.

Somewhere in the back of Brennan's head, the forensic anthropologist was aware that her jaw was hanging open in a very undignified manner. Staring at her partner, expression dumbfounded, she worked her mouth several times before successfully forming coherent words.

"Wha-…how did you…that's _impossible_!" She sputtered, face flushing indignantly.

"Whoa, relax Bones, you're gonna pop a blood vessel there." He raised his hands soothingly, but she was already struggling to her feet, pointing a finger in his face as she shook her head angrily.

"You think you're so smart? There are tons of things you don't know about me!" She snatched up her purse, leaning forward stab him in the chest with the accusing finger. "_Tons_!"

Not waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the empty diner, leaving an amused (though slight bewildered) Booth behind. Watching her retreating figure, the agent just shook his head before allowing a soft chuckled to escape his lips.

* * *

She arrived at the Jeffersonian early the next morning, attacking the stack of paperwork on her desk with vengeance. Work always helped Bones settle her thoughts, and as she lost herself determinedly in the seemingly endless pile of folders and reports, she started to feel the tension and frustration of the past day draining out of her.

Several hours later, Brennan glanced up from her computer at the soft knock on her office door. Seeing him hovering hesitantly at the threshshold, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Come in, Booth," she greeted in exasperation, well aware of the underlying meaning behind the exchange: his knocking instead of waltzing straight in was a request for forgiveness; her invitation was consent.

The unspoken matter settled, the man relaxed fully as he entered, coming to casually sit on the corner of her desk so he could see what she was working on. "Is this the McGregor case?" His eyes scanned the electronic report briefly.

"Yes, I'm almost finished with my write-up."

"We still on for tonight, then?" He absentmindedly picked up her paperweight, tossing it gently from hand to hand as he continued to scan the computer monitor. "I want to combine notes and wrap up the official report so I have the weekend free."

"Parker's coming over?" She inquired knowingly, plucking the paperweight from his hands and setting it firmly back on her desk.

He finally met her eyes, giving a sheepish smile. "Yeah, tomorrow morning. And I _hate_ when I have paperwork on the few days I actually get to hang out with him."

"Well then, we'll just make sure to finish it all up tonight," she promised. "I'll come by around seven. Pizza?"

He grinned. "Chinese," he countered.

"Thai," she compromised.

"Sold," he offered his hand, and this time she couldn't resist rolling her eyes before shaking it.

* * *

"I'm serious Angela," Brennan sighed impatiently, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the diner's lunch-crowd. When her free-spirited friend just continued to chuckle, she felt a stab of irritation. "Stop laughing!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Angela apologized genially, eyes dancing with merriment, "but I still fail to see what's so bad about a having a big, beautiful FBI hunk with puppy-dog eyes understand what makes you tick."

"I do not twitch!" Brennan objected, voice defensive.

"No, Bren, 'tick' as in a clock…you know, like what makes you work."

"I work because I have a passion for forensic anthropology and hold great respect for uncovering the truth…"

Angela sighed, resisting what she was sure would prove to be an exasperating and ultimately pointless tangent. Instead, she took a drink of her soda and worked to refocus on the issue Brennan had burst out with after ordering their food. "I know. Never mind, just tell me why it bothers you that Booth knows about your life."

"It's not that," Brennan shook her head in frustration, trying to isolate what was truly bothering her. "We've been partners for over three years; it's natural that we would learn about each others life, discuss major events. _I_ know that he was a sniper in the Rangers, has a son named Parker, and likes to fix up old cars."

"Yeah…" Angela trailed off, knowing that Brennan was now so wrapped up in her own internal debate that no encouragement was really needed for the woman to continue.

"But _he_ goes past the basic profile. He knows the little details, too. And not just _some_ of them…" She looked up at Angela, the expression on her face looking like a cross between frustration and horror. "Ang, he knows _everything_! And the infuriating part is, I don't remember _telling_ him any of it!"

Taking a steadying breath, Brennan crossed her arms and turned to her best friend for guidance. "How is he doing this?" she demanded.

The artist was laughing again, and Brennan felt a scowl pull at her face. Damn her. Damn them both. But before she could stomp away, Angela put a comforting hand on her shoulder, shaking her head in amusement.

"Sweetie, you _do_ tell him, without even realizing it. You slip little details into your conversation without thinking about it, because _you_ see them as unimportant. But Booth…you look at a bone and memorize every little crack and protrusion on it. He does the same thing with people. It's his job, and he's good at it." Her smile widened knowingly, "And I'm sure knowing it drives you crazy is just another perk."

"But that's not fair!" Brennan cried irritably. "He talks just as much as me, and I don't know any of his 'little stuff'."

"Aw Bren, sure you do. You're a very observant person, I'm sure you've noticed one or two of his quirks. You just can't expect to retain as many trivial details as he does…face it Bren, that man's perceptiveness is just _unnatural_."

Brennan mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that?" Angela asked, leaning in.

The anthropologist flushed slightly. "I said I don't know when he lost _his_ first tooth…"

Angela leaned back, raising an impressed eyebrow. '_Damn, he __**is**__ good_,' she noted silently. Aloud, she spoke to her friend slowly and gently. "…Then why don't you just ask him?"

* * *

_Chapter 2 is up. Let me know what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Getting to Know You**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Booth dug into his Khao Pad eagerly, savoring the Thai spices on his tongue. Chewing thoughtfully, he wiped his greasy fingers on the leg of his jeans before flipping open yet another folder.

"I still can't believe this guy's wife was poisoning him for _seven_ _months_," he said around a mouthful of chicken, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Mmm," Bones responded absentmindedly, seemingly lost in a folder of her own. Her open container of rice sat half-finished on the table before them, forgotten for the time being.

"I mean, you would think that if she really wanted him dead that badly, she would have tried something a little more…direct," he pressed determinedly, attempting to draw a conversation out of his distracted partner. He was _bored_.

"Mmm," Bones replied again, staring intently at the report in front of her. Upon closer inspection, Booth realized that her eyes were not actually moving; she seemed to be staring _through_ the papers, not _at_ them.

"Bones?"

"Mmm."

"_Bones_!"

"Huh?" She turned to look at him with a start, as if torn from a trance. "What?"

He grinned teasingly, amusement glinting in his eyes at catching his partner daydreaming. "You didn't hear a single word I just said, did you?"

"Of course I did," she protested defensively, shoulders straightening indignantly at his accusation.

"Well then what did I just say?" He challenged knowingly.

Cerulean eyes narrowed, her mind struggling to remember the pointless chatter she had been tuning out moments before. At her extended silence, his grin began to grow.

"See, I told you-"

"When did you lose your first tooth?" She suddenly blurted out.

"I- what?" He asked, bewildered by the sudden change in topic.

"Your first tooth. When did you lose it? How did it fall out?"

"Jeez, Bones, I dunno…why?"

"Because it has recently been brought to my attention that you know many details, both intimate _and_ trivial, about my life, while I know almost none from yours!" Her voice was petulant, but her eyes were genuinely troubled.

"That's not true…" Booth began, but trailed off at the expression on her face. He gave a defeated sigh, wondering when he had lost control over this conversation. Hadn't _he_ been the one grilling _her_?

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he finally focused on her question, trying to remember.

"Ok. Fine. I think my first one fell out when I was, oh jeez…seven? I got punched in the mouth."

Brennan's eyes widened in horror, guilt crossing her face as her hand shot out to touch his arm. "Oh my God, your father?"

He jerked away as if she had slapped him, eyebrows shooting to his hairline and then narrowing into a glare. "What? No! Jeez Bones, no, it was Jared. We got into a scuffle…you know how kids are…" He risked a look at her, then turned quickly away at the awkward flush he saw on her cheeks.

"Oh," she said softly, for once at a loss for words. They had never discussed Booth's loaded comment after the birthday party. He had never explained the whole story behind it. And she had never told him that she already knew.

Watching out of the corner of her eye for any signs of danger, Brennan saw him struggling, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he ran a hand through his hair. Finally heaving a sigh, he straightened up, swallowed his embarrassment, and plopped down on the couch next to her with a forced air of casualness.

"You got anything else?"

"Huh?"

"Any other 'trivial' details you need to know before you burst?" He gave her a somewhat watery version of his charm smile, but she sensed she was forgiven.

"Yes," she said softly, holding his gaze a moment longer to make sure there were no traces of resentment.

He was silent for a minute, then gave a true smile and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "So…?"

"Oh!" She flushed, realizing he was waiting for her to actually _ask_ him something. "Well, I mean, I don't have them ready right _now_. I…I have to think about it."

"Of _course_ you do."

"I would like to take some time to give the matter sufficient thought and compile a list-"

"A _list_?" He stared at her incredulously. If it had been anyone else, he would have bet they were kidding, but not Bones.

"Well yes, in the interest of being thorough…"

He let out a groan and fell back deeper into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why am I beginning to feel like one of the skeletons on your examination table?"

"Come on Booth, fair is fair. You know all about me. I…" she suddenly looked a little flustered, stalling before meeting his eyes self-consciously, "I want to know about you."

'_You already __**do**__!_' He wanted to scream at her. He had shared more of himself with this woman than any other person on earth; she knew his secrets, his fears, his vices…what more _was_ there? But one look at her face told him that this answer would not appease her. Swallowing yet another sigh, he accepted fate and surrendered to the force of nature that was his partner.

"Alright, fine, Bones. You win. You can make your little list and we'll get my dissection over with, but on two conditions."

"What are they?" she asked, already sounding suspicious.

"One," he held up a finger in front of her nose, waggling it for emphasis, "Any question you ask, you also have to answer about yourself."

"What! Booth that is completely-"

"Ah, ah, ah! 'Fair is fair', remember Bones? You wanted us to be equal, right? It goes _both_ ways."

"Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, clearly displeased.

"Two," he held up another finger, meeting her eyes win an intense, no-nonsense glare, "Absolutely, under _no_ circumstances, are you allowed to ask _anything_ whatsoever that pertains to my past, current, or future sex life."

She gave an incredulous laugh. "Why would you-"

"Because," he interrupted firmly, refusing to release her from his warning look, "I _know_ you."

She contemplated his face for a moment before finally flashing a satisfied grin. "Sold," she echoed his words from earlier that day, extending a hand. He matched her smile with one of his own, shaking her hand firmly.

"Deal."

* * *

Brennan rested her forehead on a fist, glaring balefully at the notepad before her. If intimidation alone could generate a list of interesting, insightful questions, she'd be at number two-hundred-and-fifty already. Instead, after an hour of fruitless brainstorming, she was still stuck at number seven.

Glancing down at the offensive sheet of paper, she read over her small, meticulous handwriting. '_7: What's your favorite color?_' Letting out a derisive snort she threw down her ballpoint pen in disgust. How pathetic.

After eagerly sitting down to work on her list, Brennan had quickly realized how truly ingenious Booth's seemingly harmless conditions were. Instead of arguing and becoming defensive, he had simply placed the burden of drawing the line on her shoulders, counting on her private nature to dissuade her from asking questions that were too personal.

And he had been right, she grudgingly admitted. He knew that her past was just as complicated as his own, full of painful memories and shameful confessions. Every time she came up with an interesting question about some detail of his adolescence, the parallel answer in her own life deterred her from writing it down.

In fact, the only type of 'personal' stories she _wasn't_ embarrassed about sharing involved her sex life (which, as far as she considered, wasn't really that personal at all…it was just a means of satisfying biological urges). But he had of course anticipated this as well, and covered all angles of it through condition number two.

She was beginning to suspect that she had _severely_ underestimated Seeley Booth's intelligence.

Letting out a groan, the doctor allowed her head to fall against her desk, not even bothering to look up when she heard the familiar approaching footsteps.

"What is it, Angela?"

"Whoa, what happened to you?"

"Booth," she moaned miserably, raising her head to meet her friend's eyes. Seeing the smirk, she quickly shot the other woman a glare. "You know what I meant."

"Mmhmm…" Angela teased, plopping down into a chair across from the desk. "So what did Sir Hunk-a-lot do this time?"

"Nothing. It's just these stupid rules he made. How am I supposed to construct an effective questionnaire if I'm constantly being limited in what I can-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. Rewind, Sweetie. What's this about rules and a questionnaire now?"

Brennan sat up fully in her chair, giving the notebook a disgruntled shove to the side before bringing Angela up to speed. "Well, after careful consideration, I took your advice and confronted Booth directly about the lack of details he offers me in everyday conversation. We agreed that the only rational solution would be for me to generate a list of questions-"

"You _what_?"

"-that he will then answer systematically." She raised an eyebrow at Angela's look of disbelief. "What? It's the most efficient solution to the problem."

"And Booth just agreed to let you…interrogate him?" The brunette asked skeptically.

"Well, he enforced some guidelines…"

"Uh-huh, that sounds more like it," she nodded knowingly, sinking into a chair and making herself comfortable. "Let's hear them."

"Well, first of all, I am not allowed to ask anything that I can't answer about myself," Brennan sighed, secretly relieved that Angela was settling in. It meant the cavalry had arrived.

"Ooh, _bravo_, Booth," Angela said appreciatively, feeling a new sense of respect for the agent. "Nicely played."

"And second, I am not allowed to ask anything about his sex life," the anthropologist sighed. Was it her imagination, or had Angela detected the hints of a whine in her friend's voice?

"He _would_," the brunette lamented with exaggerated disappointment, waving away Brennan's questioning look. "Never mind, Sweetie. That's just…unfortunate. What else?"

"That's it. There are just the two rules."

The artist cocked her head to one side, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. "So…what's the problem?"

"The _problem_ is I can't think of anything to ask! I made such a big deal about wanting to know the details about his life, but I can't think of anything important enough! All the significant events are too personal…"

"But sweetie, isn't that kinda the whole point?" Angela hedged gently.

"What?"

"Bren, I thought the whole reason you were upset was because you didn't know the _little_ things about Booth's life. You guys already know the _big_ things about each other, even if you leave out a few of the nitty gritty details. And while no one would like a healthy serving of dirt on Booth's 'bedside manner' better than me, I don't think that's what you're really after, either."

"I'm not sure _I_ even know what I'm after," Brennan admitted, more than a little frustrated.

"Sure you do, you just need a little guidance. Lucky for you, here I am," the artist posed dramatically, drawing a rueful grin from her friend. "Come on, let's see what you've got so far."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Cam paused at the entrance of Dr. Brennan's office, raising a brow at the giggles coming form within. "Sounds like a party," she commented as she peeked in, spotting her two female coworkers sitting on the couch, leaning over something eagerly. "What's going on?"

"Bren's making a list," Angela sing-songed, letting out a fresh burst of laughter as Brennan's elbow caught her in the side.

"Oh? What kind of list?" Cam inched forward, curiosity getting the best of her.

Bones glanced down sheepishly, scanning the pad of paper in her lap. Admittedly, the list had grown considerably since Angela began contributing (although some of the newer questions were getting ridiculous…like number twenty-three: '_name your most ticklish spot_'). She contemplated Cam carefully. Surely adding another mind, especially one with more…intimate…knowledge of their target, could only help the process...

"It's a list of questions for Booth."

"Questions?" Cam repeated skeptically.

"They made a deal," Angela explained smugly, shooting Cam a meaningful glance. "Bren gets to ask Booth as many questions as she wants, as long as she answers them, too."

Cam dropped into a nearby chair, giving Brennan a pitying look. "Ohh boy," she drew out knowingly, shaking her head.

"What do mean you 'Ohh boy'?" The anthropologist wanted to know.

"Dr. Brennan, you _do_ realize that you are making a deal with the devil, right?"

"Rationally speaking, there is no such thing as the devil, it's just a mythical persona created to frighten people into acting in a way that society sees as morally responsible." She gave Cam a calculating look before shrugging, "Though I assume you were speaking metaphorically."

"Right…" she trailed off awkwardly before shrugging off her exasperation at the anthropologist's overly literal interpretation of _everything_. "What I _meant_ to say, Dr. Brennan, was that this is probably going to backfire on you."

"What is?"

"Trying to pump Seeley Booth for information. The man interrogates suspects for a living; he knows what he's doing."

"I am well aware of Booth's interrogation skills," the scientist assured defensively.

"Then you are also aware that no matter how many questions he answers, he is going to glean about _four_ _times_ as much information off of you."

"I don't see how that's possible if we are both answering the same questions," Brennan maintained stubbornly.

Cam just heaved a sigh. "Dr. Brennan, _you_ will be fairly curious about Booth's answers. You'll listen to his responses to the questions and carefully file away as many as you can." She paused to shoot the anthropologist an amused glance, "That is, if you aren't writing them down as you go…"

"But Booth…he can't help it; he likes to put people together like puzzles. Your answers will _fascinate _him; he'll memorize every aspect of your response. Then he'll analyze it and _feel_ it and ask innocent questions that result in a twenty minute elaboration of _why_ yellow is your favorite color before you even realize what he's done! And then he'll take the entire conversation and tuck it away in that goddamn infinite memory bank of his."

She sat back and took a deep breath, flushing slightly as she realized she'd been ranting. Angela arched one elegant eyebrow questioningly, interest clearly apparent on her face.

"What?" Cam asked defensively. "_You_ try dating someone that perceptive. He's downright _scary_, sometimes."

Angela held her gaze for another moment before suddenly jumping to her feet, bringing her hands together with an authoritative clap. "Drinks," she announced happily.

"Excuse me?"

"We need drinks," Angela clarified, hulling Brennan to her feet and moving towards Cam fast, "_Now_."

"But-" Brennan began to protest, only to be immediately cut off.

"Ah! It's seven-o-clock; work has officially been over for two hours." Angela turned next to Cam, daring her to argue. "We are three young, attractive women, who are going to take _this_ notebook," she bent down and retrieved the list off of the coffee table, "to the nearest bar and fill it with questions to torture our favorite, gorgeous FBI agent. Any questions?"

The other two women stood before her helplessly, sharing a glance of defeat as the artist's wicked grin widened further. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

* * *

"Ang, this time I am _positive_ that that falls under the 'no sex talk' rule," Brennan scolded, taking one last appreciative sip of her now-empty long island ice tea. Where was Cam with their next round?

"What!" Angela protested innocently, twirling her own drink slowly. "That doesn't _have_ to be sexual. You are taking it out of context!"

The doctor shot her friend a skeptical look. "What are your favorite 'groan zones'?" She repeated incredulously, not familiar with the term but intelligent enough to guess its meaning. Her PhD wasn't just for show, after all…

"What's wrong with asking _that_?" Angela continued to insist stubbornly, playing with a napkin. "It's reasonable."

"It's _sexual_."

"It's behind his left ear," Cam noted casually from behind them, setting down their drinks with a _clunk_ before climbing back onto the stool next to Angela.

"What!" Angela cried gleefully, turning her full attention to the other woman. Cam just gave a knowing smile before pulling a fresh ice tea towards her, shaking her head before taking a long sip. The woman's cheeks were tinged slightly pink from the alcohol that was coursing through her system and loosening her usually guarded lips.

"Fine," the artist relented, though delight still danced behind her warm eyes. "Cross that one off the list, Bren."

"It was never _on_ the list," the doctor mumbled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she quickly shooed away the images Cam's insider knowledge had generated in her mind's eye. Taking one of the new drinks in both hands, she eagerly pulled it closer and set out to drown the troublesome thoughts.

"Has he ever been arrested?" Cam wondered thoughtfully, settling back in.

"Has he ever been skinny dipping?" Angela grinned wickedly.

Brennan shook her head in amusement at the questions coming from her two tipsy friends. Taking another sip of her own decidedly strong drink, the anthropologist finally gave up, shrugged her shoulders, and added them both to the list.

_Fin_.

* * *

_And all__ folks. I kind of like ending it here...I think I'll leave the actual interrogation to your imaginations. If you have a minute, please let me know what you thought (as always, any feedback is welcome). _


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